


The Moon Looks Down and Laughs

by Kindassunshine



Category: Naruto
Genre: Anal Sex, Dubious Consent, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-28
Updated: 2015-04-28
Packaged: 2018-03-26 05:51:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3839458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kindassunshine/pseuds/Kindassunshine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As Hashirama watched it groaned revealing itself to be a man. A pale, black-haired man. He shot across the room before Tobirama could catch his arm. <br/>‘Madara?’ he breathed, pressing his fingertips to a pale cheek. The man coughed wetly, dark eyelashes flickering up, until he was looking at Hashirama and he realised his mistake. Izuna. </p>
<p>An injured Izuna Uchiha is captured by the Senju, Hashirama is willing to return him alive for love of his brother alone but if further compensation is offered who is he to refuse?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Moon Looks Down and Laughs

**Author's Note:**

> I am obsessed with Madara... honestly I think it's really becoming a problem... 
> 
> Still trying to get the feeling for this Warring States period, as I think it's different from Naruto proper... more violent basically and less power-of-friendship-y 
> 
> Anyway, enjoy!

Hashirama stifled a yawn, watching blandly as three sentries trooped towards him. It was late evening and chilly, a fresh wind rising from the eastern coast. He’d returned to home, frustrated and exhausted, from an over-run meeting with the Fire Lord’s representative.   
‘Hashirama-sama!’ the closest hailed raising a hand. Hashirama eyed them; the one who’d spoken wore heavy red Senju armour as did the man beside her. Toka he recognised at the back; she inclined her head to him eyes gleaming. Her chakra flickered, restless, and houses around them seemed unnaturally quiet.   
‘What’s going on?’ he asked unease pushing back his fatigue, ‘has something happened?’   
‘Tobirama wants you,’ Toka muttered quickly, cutting across the others. Hashirama looked at her questioningly but she shrugged turning her back on him to lead the way. As they trotted through the compound, Hashirama could see worried faces peering through doorways; men in small groups muttering and women keeping their children inside.   
‘Toka-san what’s happened?’   
‘Scouts found an enemy wounded,’ she answered succinctly, still looking ahead.  
‘And?’ he sighed; his tolerance for monosyllabic subordinates waning rapidly. They’d reached the grain store and Hashirama had a sudden inkling what awaited inside; it was easily the best fortified building in the village and shinobi had no use for prison cells. Red-armoured guards encircled the place, eyes moving ceaselessly.   
‘And… they brought him back to the village,’ Toka said finally. They’d arrived at the back of the building and Hashirama followed the two sentries around, Toka melting into the shadows at his back.  
‘Why on earth would they do that?’ he asked the thin air, not realising. He glared behind him; he hated it when she did that.  
The ninja at the north corner cracked a smile like his little brother’s as Hashirama passed and he recognised his young cousin with a shock. He’d had been gone nearly a year training with another clan famed for their medical ninjutsu. Hashirama inclined his head, wondering at time’s swift rivers.   
His brother stood at the door, breath curling on the black air.   
‘Brother,’ he grunted when Hashirama stopped before him.  
‘So?’ he muttered, peeking the thin slice of the room he could see beyond. Tobirama stepped back inside.   
Thick cloth sacks were piled from the compressed earth floor to the ceiling. In a small space on the far side of the room was what looked like a bundle of soiled cloth. As Hashirama watched it groaned revealing itself to be a man. A pale, black-haired man. He shot across the room before Tobirama could catch his arm.  
‘Madara?’ he breathed, pressing his fingertips to a pale cheek. The man coughed wetly, dark eyelashes flickering up, until he was looking at Hashirama and he realised his mistake. Izuna.   
Hashirama sat back on his heels, pulling his hand back as though burned.   
‘I waited,’ Tobirama said at his back. Unlike him, Hashirama thought looking down at the Uchiha’s bloody face. ‘I thought you might want to kill him yourself.’ Hashirama felt a sharp thrill.   
‘How was he injured?’ he asked quickly, trying to guess the extent of his wounds from the amount of blood.   
‘I don’t know,’ Tobirama shrugged, ‘Saru’s team found him past the boarder.’  
‘How far past?’ Hashirama turned to look at his brother’s face.  
‘Far enough,’ Tobirama murmured expressionless as stone. Hashirama scrunched his eyes closed then sighed hard. Madara smirked at him from the shadows of his mind.   
‘Brother, what are you doing?’ Tobirama growled as soon as he felt him gathering chakra.  
‘Stopping the bleeding,’ he murmured, holding his hands an inch above the rapidly rising and falling chest. Hashirama glanced at the Uchiha’s white face accessing, a punctured lung plus a handful of minor injuries – impressive to have survived this long. Tissue knitted beneath his hands and Izuna Uchiha took a deep full breath. Hashirama stood feeling his brother’s heavy gaze on his back. Izuna lay slack on his back, hand feeling cautiously over his own rib cage.   
Hashirama stalked out, Tobirama at his heel. It seemed even colder outside than it had been and the night was now inky black.   
‘Double the guard,’ Tobirama growled as they exited; ‘he’s awake.’ 

‘I’m not going to kill him,’ Hashirama told his silent shadow. He’d walked to the outer edge of the village facing the thick forest that separated them from Uchiha lands.   
‘Evidently,’ Tobirama grumbled before lapsing into accusatory silence. After a moment he murmured: ‘what will you do?’ Hashirama considered.   
‘Send a message,’ he answered. Tobirama huffed out a breath shaking his head. ‘If Madara were in my place, he’d give me your life.’   
‘You believe that?’  
‘I know it to be true.’ Tobirama folded his arms, rolling his eyes. ‘He’s not Tajima,’ Hashirama added when the other remained silent.   
‘No,’ Tobirama muttered, ‘he’s worse – he probably beat the kid himself, punishment for some imagined slight.’   
‘You don’t know him,’ Hashirama snapped.   
‘Neither do you, brother,’ the other grunted, ‘you were children. Madara Uchiha is a man now, and he is a man that hates you.’ Hashirama did not shout or make any sound at all but the fine hairs seemed to lift on Tobirama’s skin and he knew he’d pushed it too far. ‘Forgive me, brother, I was only-’   
‘You have said enough,’ Hashirama spoke stiffly, ‘we will send a message to the Uchiha and the boy will leave in the morning.’ Tobirama nodded rigidly and stalked away into the night. Hashirama took a breath to steady his chakra. Even now the things he wanted couldn’t be said out loud. 

He returned to the gain store. A pair of armoured ninja stood when he entered. They bowed. Hashirama nodded running his eyes over the now kneeling prisoner. Izuna looked back at him insolently. He’d been stripped of everything but his high-collared shirt and trousers, even his feet were bare.   
‘Where are the things you took from him?’ he asked. The pair looked at one another.   
‘I will find them, Hashirama-sama,’ the taller of the two said.  
‘Bring ink and my seal as well,’ he added as the man walked out. Black eyes continued to watch him. Hashirama looked back. He was better looking than Madara, though younger, even a lean winter hadn’t taken the roundness from his face and his dark hair curled a little sweetly.   
Hashirama smoothed his robes, glanced at the remaining ninja as she adjusted her sword hilt, resisting the urge to pace. Thinking back to his childhood conversations with Madara, Hashirama tried to remember what he knew about the Uchiha. He’d been born in late winter, like Tobirama, he recalled and was three or four years younger than he and Madara.   
Hashirama eyed Izuna’s empty hands folded in his lap; perhaps he should have him blindfolded, though it wasn’t sure if he was concerned about the sharingan or the unwavering dark gaze. The other guard clattered back in, bringing Toka with him.   
‘Toka-san,’ he murmured as she stared at Izuna, as though she’d never seen a man before.   
‘You asked for your seal,’ she informed him lips tight – holding in any further questions by force.   
‘I did,’ he accepted, holding out his hand for it.   
‘Why?’ she asked lifting her chin.   
‘I need to send a message,’ he told her. Toka waited until a second longer would have been insubordination. She handed him the Senju seal. ‘Did my brother send you?’ he chuckled. Her expression softened slightly.   
‘No, I was deciphering the Uchiha’s scrolls-’ a soft snort. The two Senju looked at their prisoner.   
‘Ah, I wish you luck, kunoichi-san,’ the man smirked.   
‘You will not address her, or even look at her, Uchiha – or I will cut your tongue out,’ Hashirama snapped. Izuna resumed glaring at him in silence. Toka looked amused.   
‘Hashirama-sama,’ the returned guard murmured, holding out an armful of personal effects. Hashirama pulled out a high-collared robe that matched the shirt Izuna still wore. He ran a thumb over the embroidered crest on the back.   
There was nothing individual among his possessions. He wore no jewellery or favoured any weapon, apart from the long sword which Hashirama had no intension of returning to the Uchiha – such weapons were precious and hard to come by. He held the collared robe to his nose looking at Izuna; it smelled smoky and Hashirama knew it was the scent of his skin. It would be enough. Spreading the robe on the floor and inking a brush, he scrawled four words onto the fabric: tomorrow; dawn; the boarder. Finishing with his own name freehand; the seal apparently unnecessary as it would not have come out.   
‘Leave this where the Uchiha scouts will find it,’ he said, bundling up the robe and handing it to Toka, ‘they’ll be out looking for him. Be careful.’ She nodded and glancing at him only once before tucking the robe beneath her chest plate and bowing out of the room. Hashirama felt strangely light; he would see him tomorrow.   
Izuna was still staring at him in complete silence as were the two remaining Senju ninja.   
‘You can go now, I will watch him,’ Hashirama instructed, then fixed his eyes on them; ‘you will speak of this to no one.’ Both bowed deeply hurrying from the room.   
A low laugh. Hashirama didn’t look at him but turned his back, sealing the door then moving around to each window.   
‘I thought you must be a madman, to call my brother friend, but now I have the proof,’ the Uchiha murmured to Hashirama’s back.   
‘You shouldn’t be complaining,’ he said back finishing the final seal and turning back to him.   
‘Nothing is for free in this life,’ Izuna muttered, flattening his back more comfortably against the wall of the hut, ‘so Senju, what’s my life worth?’ Hashirama considered; he thought of Madara’s black hair and felt something loosen inside of him. He ran his eyes over Izuna again.  
They didn’t look too much alike for brothers, although he supposed the Uchiha looked more alike than he and Tobirama. His palms tingled.   
He hadn’t seen the Uchiha leader in months now, stealth missions were what was required in winter, but soon the spring campaigns would begin again in earnest. Endless sticky summers filled with nothing but purposeless fighting and Madara’s dark scornful eyes. Hashirama rubbed absently at a callous on his palm. War was terrible, it made men cruel. It stretched the limits of what they were capable of.   
It was near midnight, and inside the grain store it was silent and they were alone. Izuna was watching him. Hashirama scrutinised the Uchiha thoughtfully, treacherous heat stealing through his limbs. He did have the sharingan. He knelt, close enough that their knees touched. Izuna glared; face still and hard as marble. Hashirama cupped his cheek, pressing with his thumb into the soft flesh below his eye revealing a thin strip of white below the iris. Izuna didn’t blink.   
‘I think you know what I want,’ Hashirama murmured looking into the blackness.   
‘Too bad my brother’s made of ice,’ Izuna smirked. Hashirama could felt the heat rising from Izuna’s body, seeping through the thin skin of his fingertips.  
‘He’ll soften,’ Hashirama assured him.   
‘Not in this life,’ Izuna snorted, pulling his face away sharply.   
‘Can you show me him?’ Hashirama murmured eyes on the pale face. There were rumours of course, about the recreational uses of the sharingan – the Tsukuyomi in particular – but he’d had no cause to check their validity until now. The other snorted, frowning at Hashirama speculatively: ‘in a genjutsu, what makes you think I won’t kill you?’  
‘What do you imagine will happen when we’re found?’ Hashirama shrugged, pressing his palms together dropping briefly into sage mode. Eighteen ninja at least, encircling the grain store, throbbing with chakra and ready for a fight. No Tobirama or Toka but Saru was close enough for him to sense clearly.   
‘You’re going to kill me away,’ Izuna sneered but his eyes were flickering.   
‘Not tonight.’ Izuna rolled his eyes, expression calculating. For a moment there was nothing but the sound of their breathing in the semi dark.   
‘Come closer then,’ Izuna muttered roughly, pulling up his knees and placing his feet apart so the other could sit between them. Hashirama moved closer. Izuna had his head down dark hair obscuring his eyes. He felt the swell of chakra with a tiny thrill. He lifted his hand pushing back Izuna’s hair, watching interestedly as with another glut of chakra his sharingan’s markings shifted. He was rarely close enough see but could sense it, like a change in air pressure, as he could in Madara. Izuna flicked his eyes up and Hashirama resisted the long imbedded instinct to flinch back.   
Madara was sat before him, squashed between himself and the wall as Izuna had been. Dressed also as his younger brother had been, looking at him under his eyelashes as the real Madara never would.   
He extended a hand hesitantly at first, running his fingers through thick black hair. Madara smiled.   
‘Don’t,’ he hissed through his teeth. The expression slackened, giving in to its natural glower. That was better. Hashirama held Madara’s skull with both hands, nails digging into his scalp, pulling his face nearer until their foreheads touched. This close he could have been anyone.   
Hashirama shifted closer still until they were pressed chest to chest, stomach to stomach, hip bones jammed against his. For a moment his rested there, feeling the other’s body swell and soften with each breath. Then he kissed his neck, feeling to the pulse-point with his lips. A tight sigh and he bit, lightly then harder until he could taste rust on his tongue.  
He pulled back a little until he could see Madara regard him fiercely. There was blood on his neck and Hashirama could taste it when he licked his teeth. It tasted good. Madara was watching him, head tipped a little to the side. It made his skin prickle with damp heat. He was hard, his cock thick and uncomfortable beneath the fabric of his trousers.   
He reached for Madara again, catching him by the neck of his shirt. Pulling at the unresisting body until it was on his lap, flush against him, thighs spread over his; trapped between his torso and the wall at his back. Madara steadied himself, palms resting on his shoulders. Hashirama sniffed his thick hair, feeling pleasure curl his toes. Hashirama slid his hands under the high-collared shirt, running palms up the other’s sides feeling tenderly over his rib cage.   
Hashirama kissed his mouth, pressing a hot tongue between his lips. Holding Madara’s upper arm and cupping the back of his head, he could feel knees jerk against his ribs. He ran blunt nails along his spine. As he reached down between them to touch him, he heard a soft gasp feeling bare heels dig into the small of his back. The skin beneath his fingertips was smooth and he could feel fine veins pulsing with life. Hashirama ran his thumb across the tip. Arousal twisted low in his stomach. The weight on him was almost perfect, with the rough fabric of his trousers rubbing over his sensitive skin. But there was something violent rising up in him and he needed more.   
He rolled them – pulling the other beneath him, stripping fabric down pale legs. Madara growled as he dug his hands into the fold of his hip, holding him in place. Hashirama caught a fistful of black hair, breathing a word of caution, and wrapping his other arm his chest and trapping his arms. The other man grunted trying to writhe loose. Hashirama sighed; it was no good. Branches sprouted from the dry ground snaking around pale limbs until he was held immobile and Hashirama twisted around him like a vine, sucking his fingers then pressing inside. A sharp whine of pain.   
There was a word for it he’d heard whispered once. Something sweet, ripe and succulent; nothing like the acrid taste of Madara’s skin. He bit into the back of his neck muscular heat contracting around his erection. His nails sank into the flesh of the other’s thigh and he could do nothing but pant out hot breaths, hips flexing. For a moment there was too much light to see and his muscles seemed to be melting from his bones.   
He couldn’t be sure when exactly the genjutsu snapped. It was difficult, he supposed, to keep him under an illusion – he’d trained his whole life to defeat the sharingan. But the man he pulled out of was no longer his childhood friend. Thick vines contracted into the earth and Izuna backed jerkily against the wall.   
Hashirama stood, straightening his robes and tying back his hair. Without raising his head Izuna wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, shakily pushing himself back into a sitting position. His eyes were black again, if a little bloodshot, as he retied the sash at his waist and tugged down his high-collared shirt. Neither spoke. Hashirama went to the door deactivating the seal and calling for a pair of guards.   
‘You will be returned to your clan in the morning,’ Hashirama told the silent figure before sweeping from the room. 

Tobirama was silent in the grey dawn, one hand resting uncompromisingly on Izuna’s narrow shoulder. Hashirama hadn’t looked at him once – shame was burning every inch of him. They were moving silently through the forest half the clan slipping from tree to tree eyes wide for Uchiha. They had reached the boarder before the sun had heaved its way up from the horizon. In the gloom something moved. Then he was moving between the shafts of early morning sunlight.   
‘Uchiha!’ came a shrill shout from above and Tobirama glared up into the tree line. Madara smirked at Hashirama stopping on the other side of an invisible dividing line. Sarutobi landed with a thump beside them holding the young kunoichi who’d called by the scruff of her neck. Tobirama raised an eyebrow at him.   
‘I know!’ he groaned. Tobirama shook his head, pushing Izuna a little forward.   
‘You’re chunin now,’ he grunted, ‘you keep them quiet or you’ll get them killed.’ Hashirama gave Sarutobi a rueful smile stepping forward to face Madara. The Uchiha watched him get closer.   
‘You’re alone?’ Hashirama asked softly. Madara shrugged, sharingan flickering briefly through the trees.  
‘I thought it might be a trap,’ he murmured.   
‘It still might be,’ Hashirama grinned. Madara lowered his chin smirking; defiant though he looked thin and cold, the skin beneath his dark eyes shadowed. He wasn’t wearing his gunbai.  
‘Enough,’ Tobirama growled stepping forwards pushing Izuna before him. He’d been gagged and blindfolded for the trip. Scowling at Madara, Tobirama slit the tie at his wrists and stepped back. Madara cupped his brother’s head pushing up the blindfold just enough to show a thin strip of red. They regarded one another for a moment, sharingan swirling. Madara snorted, pulling off the blindfold completely. Izuna didn’t speak reaching up to untie the gag and pivoting so that he faced the Senju beside his brother. Madara looked back at Hashirama, amusement melting from his face. Tobirama fingered the hilt of his long sword.   
Madara sneered at him throwing a single scroll before both Uchiha disappeared in a puff of smoke. Hashirama caught it and slit it open. Tobirama watched him closely. A blueprint of the Hagoromo clan’s compound. Hashirama released a long slow breath: information like this was worth his weight in gold… or perhaps Izuna’s.


End file.
